Knock-Knock and Haunted Mansion: Insomnia
by U-Mad Max
Summary: The 2013 indie horror game Knock-Knock meets a modern interpretation of the 2003 Haunted Mansion game. Oneshot. Ezekiel Holloway and his little Lodger Edgar are the intersection of nerd and geek, and ever since Edgar's arrival, they've developed a rather adorable friendship. Ladies and gents, watch and be amazed as Zeke cares and poor Edgar doesn't know how to react!


bWARNING! THE FOLLOWING FANFIC CONTAINS NON-ROMANTIC, NON-SEXUAL HURT\COMFORT, OCCASIONAL HILARITY, AND SCENES OF GRAPHIC ADORABLENESS. ANYONE CONVINCED THAT THIS SHOULD INVOLVE SHIPPING WILL BE SENT DIRECTLY TO THEIR PROCTOLOGIST, WHO WILL HOPEFULLY HELP GET THEIR HEAD OUT OF THEIR ASS.

READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED./b

Things had actually managed to get weirder for Ezekiel Holloway. Considering that Zeke was the chosen hero of a nearly-2000-year-old high-powered asskicking device from the spirit world called the Beacon of Souls, which looked like a lantern, but worked more like the sci-fi death ray of Zeke's geeky comic-book-and-video-game-fuelled dreams, that was saying a lot. He'd fought a 500-year-old necromancer overlord and become the caretaker of a very, very haunted mansion—not that he minded, the ghosts, skeletons, and resident gargoyle were nice folks, though the constant barbershop quartet from the singing busts could get annoying. But Zeke's life had just gotten a change for the weirder.

Said change was the newest happy haunt, though he didn't technically count, seeing as he was still alive. Physically, he looked almost like a child, but he was actually somewhere around Zeke's age, early twenties at the most. He'd spent all his life in isolation, in an old house in a dreary, dying forest in the buttcrack of nowhere. He was a scientist. Well, he was a scientist during the day. He spent his nights trying to keep the unspeakable, nightmarish horrors that haunted him from completely unraveling what was left of his threadbare sanity. When Zeke had first met him, he'd seemed more like a shell-shocked war veteran than a scientist. He hardly managed to recall his name, his real name, not 'lodger' like he said the horrors called him. His name was Edgar Lockwood.

Edgar was surprisingly intelligent and eloquent, though once Zeke thought about that a bit, it wasn't surprising at all. It was his haggard appearance that made one immediately realize something was wrong. For starters, he was even smaller and scrawnier than Zeke, shockingly enough. He must have weighed about 100 pounds…

He had the complexion of Morticia Addams, and the number of expressions Zeke had seen on his face could be counted on one hand. He had a wild explosion of blood-red hair that made him look like a much creepier version of a troll doll. But his EYES…

The horrible bags beneath his gaping, haunted eyes were the first thing on Zeke's mental 'Things That Creep Me Out About Edgar' list. 'Insomnia' was possibly not a strong enough word to describe the toll Edgar's twisted, horror-story life had taken on him.

But, despite looking the part, Edgar Lockwood was by no means dangerous or malicious. Sure, 'normal' people would just dismiss his first-hand account of mind-breaking, unrelenting hell as a sure sign he should be locked up. Zeke knew better. He'd had a crash-course in malevolent presences, and if you could detect them, you didn't exactly need to be a rocket scientist to figure out there was SOMETHING in that forest. Something very, very powerful- and very, very evil. Edgar didn't have phobias. He had survival mechanisms.

Whatever the hell the thing was, it had definitely left its mark. It was possible that it was behind the forest dying, and that by itself was a terrifying thought. But the effect it had on Edgar was heartbreaking. Even with Zeke, Edgar was nervous and jumpy. The poor guy had been alone with that... thing... for several YEARS. Worse yet, Zeke had seen pictures on his wall, pictures of people who were definitely his family. Something, something terrible, had happened to them. Edgar was the last one left.

Zeke had taken the poor guy in. There was no way in hell he was leaving anyone, ESPECIALLY not someone as sophisticatedly kind as Edgar, to die in Evil Spirit-Horror Chernobyl. It took a bit for Zeke to explain to Edgar all the crazy goings-on at Gracey Manor, and it took another bit to explain to the manor's denizens what was going on with Edgar, but for the most part, things went pretty well. Baron Desrochers still needed some convincing on Edgar not being dangerous, but he could be reasoned with- he wasn't THAT much of a jock. He was sort of a jock, being a six hundred-pound, eight-foot wall of gargoyle muscle, but he thankfully wasn't enough of a jock to act like Zeke was inferior or be persuaded to get out a US map and go looking for East Dakota.

Things might have gotten weirder, but it was weird in a good way, and Zeke's extensive Internet experience had taught him to thrive in good-weirdness. It was his greatest Internet life lesson, right up there with 'bullshit is everywhere'. And in a good-weird sort of way, Zeke had become quite attached to Edgar. He was in the right place at the right time, in a position to help, and damn it, he would.

...

"Dude, Zeke, I went in the Conservatory trying to catch some runaway books, and your little friend Pajama Sam is STILL THERE."

"Baron, I know. I'm getting worried over here!"

The hulking gargoyle cocked a scaly eyebrow.

"Worried? What I'm worried about is Scaryass McCreepington in there deciding he wants to eat your liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti!"

Zeke stared at Baron incredulously.

"What the hell, Baron?! Seriously, what the hell?! If you lived how he lived his whole life, you wouldn't sleep, either! You weren't THERE, Baron. You didn't see his terrified reaction to me. You just sit there claiming to know everything about him like a douchebag!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! I'm sorry, okay? I just… ugh. I didn't mean to be such a prick… Look, maybe you should get Madame Leota. Maybe one of the unholy demon horrors pouring out of his house followed him here."

When Zeke opened the door to the Conservatory, Edgar was standing right there in the doorway.

"Oh. Hello, Zeke. Hello, Madame Leota. Hello, Baron. I was just about to come find you and find out who won the poker game."

His voice sounded just as creepy as he looked, a high-pitched, slightly raspy little voice that generally gave people the creeps.

"That's funny, we were looking for you, too. And oh yeah, I won at poker, but that was like four hours ago… Ummm, Edgar? I need you to come up to my room, we need to talk…"

Edgar stood looking around at Zeke's room. By now Zeke's worry had escalated. Edgar looked like hell, even more than he usually did. In fact, he was barely able to follow them up the stairs.

ZEKE. BEACON. NOW.

It was a psychic message from Madame Leota.

Zeke snatched the Beacon of Souls from his nightstand, and only seconds later, a FACE erupted from Edgar's shadow. But panic had stopped being a default reaction for Zeke. Instead, his natural reaction was to blast the living hell out of whatever the thing was, and thankfully, it worked, and by the time Zeke was done, whatever it was had been burned to a pile of ash.

"Holy shit," Zeke managed to say.

For about three seconds after, Edgar stood there like a deer in headlights until he finally slumped forward into Zeke's arms, eyelids fluttering.

"Edgar…?"

"Zeke…"

So the sheer shock of the incident hadn't put him out…

The young scientist managed enough strength to look up at Zeke and make eye contact, an expression born from sleep-deprived delirium in his red-rimmed eyes.

"Go to sleep, Edgar. You're fine."

Thankfully, the little insomniac was small enough that Zeke could pick him up and lay him down in his bed.

"Can't. Guests. Don't leave…"

"I won't leave," said Zeke softly, lying down next to Edgar, "I'm gonna sleep, too. Look, I'll be right here sleeping."

"They'll come… they always do…," Edgar said, struggling to speak, fighting hard not to fall asleep.

Zeke's brow furrowed and he put a hand on Edgar's bony shoulder.

"Not here. Not this time. Just go to sleep. Stop fighting it. I will personally kick the ass of anything that tries to get you here."

Zeke could feel the tension leaving the redhead's skinny little body, listening to his breathing evening out. Poor Edgar. 'At least if I have kids, I'll know what to do about the boogeyman', Zeke thought to himself. Imaginary boogeymen were definitely preferable to Edgar's real ones.

"And Baron, your Hannibal Lecter theory seems to be falling apart," Zeke whispered.

"Yeah, yeah, shut up."

END


End file.
